


Long Live the King

by arcturus7



Series: Long Live the King [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: A bit of torture, Angst, Arthur Knows, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Blink and you'll miss Gwaine, Hurt/Comfort, I'm look at you Arthur, Idiots in Love, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Jealous Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Magical Tournaments, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Pining Merlin (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), Requited Unrequited Love, Smitten Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), but not completely, no beta we die like men, slightly possessive Behavior, someone give Merlin a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcturus7/pseuds/arcturus7
Summary: Arthur, who doesn't know about Merlin's magic, hosts a tournament for his Court Sorcerer. Merlin is not jealous. No, why would he be? That's stupid. So what if the new Court Sorcerer seems to be kinda powerful? Also, power-hungry people suck. Like a lot.-or-Arthur knows but doesn't know. Merlin hates the new guy (with good reason). Arthur ignores Merlin. They're idiots.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), minor Gwen/Arthur
Series: Long Live the King [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010031
Comments: 22
Kudos: 443





	Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> just a smol warning- Merlin gets hurt in this one. Like a lot. Very hurt.  
> Also, BAMF Merlin is one of my favorite things, thank you.  
> hope you like it!

It was pitiful how Merlin still had to hide even after Arthur repealed the magic ban. Not that Merlin was ungrateful. No, Merlin was glad. Ecstatic even. Camelot was prospering, the sorcerers were content, the Druids no longer had to fear a raid, and the non-magical citizens were learning how to accept wizards. There were the occasional magical mishaps, but Gaius (openly) and Merlin (secretly) took care of them.

Merlin didn’t know why he couldn’t tell Arthur about his magic. He knew the longer he waited, the worse it would get. But he’s been lying for nearly five years and is afraid of seeing Arthur hurt and angry. Not to mention the wrong things Merlin did while hiding. Would Arthur forgive him for turning Morgana away from them? Would he forgive him for releasing the dragon? Would he be furious after discovering it was him who killed his father?

Which is why Merlin decided he’d continue hiding. Not forever, though; the truth was bound to come out one day or the other. But until then, Merlin was content with protecting Arthur and Camelot from the shadows. A repeal in the magical ban, sadly, did not put an end to the countless assassins from both magical and non-magical humans alike. 

Repealing the magic ban might have pleased the magical community, but it also angered the anti-magical community. It consisted of people who were utterly loyal to Uther (shocking, almost everyone Merlin knew hated Uther and adored Arthur) and his claims against magic. They believed that magic was the mother of all evils and wished to see it purged from the land. Needless to say, they were outraged when Arthur repealed the ban on magic. 

There were also the sorcerers who were wronged by the Pendragons and wanted Arthur to pay for his crimes. Granted, the number of magical assassins decreased drastically after the repeal. But a radical wizard would make an occasional appearance, which is why Merlin was finally ready to strangle the King of Camelot. 

“... It is a brilliant idea Merlin. There've been a lot of magical crimes that need to be addressed,” said the prat. “I need someone knowledgeable enough to advise me on magical matters.” 

“You have Gaius! He has magic and is a trusted person!” Merlin said.

“Yes, but Gaius is already a Court Physician and Advisor. I can’t give him a third title,” Arthur said. To be honest, he had a point. Giving one person too much power in court matters was a disaster in the making. Arthur should have thought of this before repealing the ban. Merlin still was unsure of what gave Arthur the final push to repeal the ban, but he was grateful nevertheless. 

“Then sack him as your Advisor and make him Court Sorcerer!” Merlin said. 

“I can’t do that Merlin, I need someone trusted as my Advisor,” Arthur said. 

“Exactly! You’re going to host a tournament filled with _strangers_ to compete for the position of someone you’re meant to _trust_.” 

“Well, do tell me, _Mer_ lin, is there a sorcerer you know who I can trust? I’d gladly make them my Court Sorcerer,” Arthur said. _Me! I’m a sorcerer!_ Is what Merlin so badly wanted to say, but refrained. 

“... No,” Merlin said, disheartened. He sighed and continued cleaning up the room. Merlin saw that Arthur was done with his dinner and reached out to collect the plates and set them aside. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Merlin set out Arthur’s nightclothes and urged Arthur to stand. He dressed Arthur up for bed and prepped the fireplace. Once Arthur was tucked in bed, Merlin snuffed out the candles and closed the curtains. “Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin said as he collected the dishes and went out the door.

“ ‘Night Merlin.”  


* * *

  
Merlin needs to convince Arthur to not hold the tournament. He did not know how many people wished him dead. A tournament like this would be the perfect opportunity to carry out an assassination. Merlin doubted any sorcerer would be foolish enough to kill Arthur out in the open, but the days leading to and after the tournament were perfect opportunities. Amongst all the sorcerers, they can easily avert any accusations and escape. 

“You’ll die,” Merlin said. Arthur was a bit shocked at the sudden proclamation. 

“Everyone dies, Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin stopped pacing around the room and came towards Arthur on his desk. He put both his hands on the table and leaned forward.

“No, you don’t get it,” Merlin said, shaking his head. Arthur rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his arms. 

“Please do explain the natural cycle of life, Merlin,” Arthur said, looking slightly amused. Merlin was getting frustrated by Arthur’s aloof tendencies. 

“There’s always been an attempt at your life every tournament,” Merlin said. Arthur huffed and leaned back towards his chair. 

“But _Mer_ lin, this is different,” he said.

“How so?” Merlin asked.

“I won’t be participating. Plus, not every tournament was an assassination plan.”

“Yes, it has. I’ve always had to save your royal backside whenever you or Uther organized a tournament!” Merlin said. “And you not participating doesn’t make a difference, We’ll all be sitting ducks wearing a colorful “Kick Me!” sign!”

Arthur scoffed. “You’ve never saved me, _Merlin_ ,”

“Valiant,” Merlin said and crossed his arms. 

“Lucky guess,” Arthur shrugged.

“Vivian.”

“That was Gwen,” Arthur said, raising his eyebrow, challenging him.

“Who do you think told her to kiss you?” Merlin retorted. “Tristan de Bois,”

“That was my Father,” Arthur said and narrowed his eyes. 

“Who do you think gave him the sword?” Merlin said and immediately regretted it. 

“Where did you find the sword?” Arthur questioned. 

Abort mission, find an insult. Always seems to work. “Your pea-sized brain couldn’t possibly comprehend it,” Merlin replies. “Do you need me to keep going, your Royal Prattishness?”

“Excuse you. And it won’t be necessary,” Arthur said, scowling. “But you see, I won’t be participating. I’ll have Camelot’s finest Knights to guard me, in case.” 

“Are you trying to say that a sword is faster than a raging fireball?” Merlin asked. 

“You’re being irrational. No one’s going to harm me,” Arthur said. “Now, have you finished drafting my speech for the tournament, Merlin?” Arthur said. Merlin just gave him his best glare, trying to look as angry as possible. 

“Pathetic excuse of a dollophead,” Merlin muttered under his breath. 

“What was that?”

“I said _‘Right after I finish making your bed’_ ,“ Merlin smiled cheekily.

“That’s not what you said,” Arthur glared. 

“Why ask if you heard?” Merlin asked and retreaded to the bed.  


* * *

  
Merlin kept trying to convince Arthur to withdraw from the tournament. Arthur, in his defense, said that this tournament was going down in history. Merlin agreed, saying that it would go down in history as the most foolish decision made by the most idiotic king ever. (Of course, Merlin didn’t mean it, Arthur was a great king and Merlin loved him).

Ah, yes. The second and possibly worse secret. Merlin fucking _loved_ his King. Another reason to keep hiding. It was a very tragic love story. Merlin was in love with Arthur, who adored Gwen, who was besotted with Lancelot, who was honor-bound to put his King before him. Merlin couldn’t blame Gwen for being in love with Lancelot, the man was impossible not to love. Merlin himself used to harbor crushes on _both_ Gwen and Lancelot but was dissolved into a type of sibling love. This was long before he realized his feelings for Arthur, though. 

Just because Merlin was secretly pining after Arthur did not mean that Merlin had to _like_ the prat. Arthur could be very infuriating if he wanted to be. 

“Do you call this a draft, Merlin?” Arthur asked just as Merlin entered the room. Merlin knew what this was about and didn’t regret it one bit. 

“Is there a problem, _sire_?” Merlin asked, faking innocence. 

“ _‘I welcome you all to the very first bad decision I made since I became King’_ ,” Arthur read from the parchment. “ _‘Despite my manservant’s warnings, which I will so happily ignore, I want to thank every participant for taking part in this great mistake’_ ,” Arthur continued and looked up. “Really, Merlin? _‘I am looking for a strange magician, who will most likely backstab me, to become my beloved Court Sorcerer’?_ ”

Arthur sighed and placed the ‘draft’ on his desk. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at Merlin. Merlin may have regretted being so blunt, but he needs Arthur to _listen_ for once. 

“Is this about magic? Why are you against this?” Arthur asked.

“No! Magic is fine, great, even. But you’ll be consulting your Court Sorcerer for all magical things. You need someone you can trust, Arthur,” Merlin said. He walked until he was right in front of Arthur’s desk. “Throwing a tournament like this will only result in an unknown person winning the position! How do you know to trust this random person?” Merlin asked. 

Arthur sighed and gestured towards the chair. “Sit.” Merlin slumped and obeyed. “What is this actually about?” Arthur asked. 

Now would be a great time to reveal himself. All he had to do was say it. But Merlin didn’t do all this for Arthur for a reward. He didn’t want to be made Court Sorcerer just because Arthur would feel obligated. Merlin does everything he does to keep Arthur safe. “... I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Merlin said finally. He was trying hard not to look so defeated. When he glanced up, he saw Arthur soften and leaned forward. Merlin dropped his gaze to his hands. 

“Merlin, look at me,” Arthur said. Merlin sighed and did. He saw that Arthur was smiling a bit. _It was not funny!_ “I get it, and I promise that nothing will happen to me,” Arthur said, sincerely. 

“You can’t promise that,” Merlin frowned. 

“Yes, I can, and I will,” Arthur said. Did he know how stupid he sounded? Merlin sighed and decided that there was no swaying him. Merlin will just have to (secretly) cast protection enchantments and never leave Arthur’s side. 

“Now,” Arthur said as he got up and walked towards Merlin’s side. “I have to go for training, make sure to write an _actual_ speech,” Arthur said and then proceed to mess up his hair. 

“Hey-” Merlin began to protest and pry Arthur’s hands away from his hair but Arthur just laughed. After a final cuff to his head, Arthur left for training.  


* * *

  
Merlin woke up with a weird feeling the day the participants were due to arrive. He knew it. _He fucking knew it_. Merlin learned long ago to trust his weird feelings. That didn’t stop Arthur from ignoring him every time he brought it up. Merlin always ended up being right but the _clotpole_ never listens. 

“Gaius I’m getting one of my weird feelings again,” Merlin said as he entered the main room. Gaius was hunched over a pot, probably cooking breakfast. “I need to convince Arthur to stop this tournament,” Merlin said when he sat down at the table. 

“It’s a bit too late for that, the participants are soon to arrive,” Gaius said. He poured some of the porridge into a bowl and pushed it over to Merlin. Merlin gladly accepted it and began to eat as quickly as possible. 

“I need to go find Arthur,” Merlin said once he was done. 

“There’s still time before dawn,” Gaius stated. 

“Yes, but I need to make sure he’s alright. Maybe I can still convince him to draw it off,” Merlin said.  
“Rise and Shine!” Merlin said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. A long groan from the bed was the response he got. “Come on now, _my lord_ , it’s time to grace us with your _regal presence_ ,” Merlin tried. 

“Shut up ‘erlin,” Arthur muttered. “It’s too early.”

“As I seem to recall, _my liege_ , you were the one eager to invite dozens of mysterious sorcerers to compete with each other in a tourney today,” Merlin said as he went to the closet to pick Arthur’s clothes. He made sure to pick the blue tunic which Arthur seems to despise. 

“Mhm… Merlin, two more minutes!” Arthur said from the bed. 

“Nuh-huh. Up you get. We need to make you presentable enough. Come on lazy-daisy!” Merlin said. Arthur didn’t answer. Merlin walked over and stood beside Arthur’s bed. “I’ll eat your breakfast. All of it.” Merlin tried to rile him up. Arthur gave a thumbs-up from under the cover. Merlin sighed and shook him as hard as he could. No reaction. “Arthur,” Merlin said. He moved closer, “Arthurr” he whispered. 

“Hmm,” Arthur sighed from under the covers and poked his head out. Merlin failed for a second because he looked so cute. Merlin wanted to curl up beside him and stay until tomorrow. _Okay, control yourself, Merlin_. 

“Arthurrr” Merlin whispered again. Merlin raised a hand to brush the strands of hair off of Arthur’s ear. He got as close as possible while trying to not kiss Arthur. “ARTHUR!” Merlin yelled. Arthur jerked up and slammed his head against Merlin’s temple. Ouch.

“MERLIN!” Arthur yelled. Merlin jerked back and rubbed his temple. Ouch. “FUCK!” Arthur cursed. 

“Ouch. That hurt,” Merlin complained. 

“Whatever gave you the right to yell in my ear?!” Arthur tried to reach out to cuff Merlin’s head but Merlin ducked away. “Stocks. Or maybe I should have you flogged,” Arthur said and plopped down on the mattress.

“No! I just woke you up, don’t go back to sleep!” Merlin reached out. Arthur drew the covers over his head. FIne. Merlin yanked the covers off and hooked his arms around Arthur’s chest. He put all his strength into pulling Arthur down.

“Nooo-” Arthur began to protest but fell. Merlin moved towards the desk to get a chunk of bread and began to stuff it down Arthur’s throat. Arthur pushed him away and swatted Merlin. “Why couldn’t you serve me breakfast in bed?” Arthur complained. 

“Because breakfast in bed is a privilege reserved for only good masters who treat their servants right,” Merlin said. 

“When have I ever mistreated you?” Arthur mock-protested. Merlin pulled on his best disapproving glare and tried to stare down Arthur. Arthur only laughed and got up. 

Merlin sighed and started to help Arthur into today’s clothes. Of course, Arthur complained about Merlin’s choice of clothes but Merlin only ignored him and continued. Arthur went over to his desk and ate breakfast while Merlin cleaned around the room. It was amazing how dirty the room could get in one night. Merlin almost suspected that Arthur purposely did it to keep Merlin busy. 

“It isn’t too late to cancel the tourney,” Merlin reminded. 

“Don’t be daft, most of the competitors are probably close to Camelot by now,” Arthur said. Well, at least he tried. Merlin decided he would let Arthur die if there was an assassination attempt. 

( _Liar_ his brain challenged, _Shut up_ Merlin told himself).

“Whatever, don’t wait for me in the afterlife after you’ve been assassinated,” Merlin said. 

“Now, why would I do that? I hardly wish to put up with your insolent ways in heaven,” Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“What makes you sure you’ll be in heaven?” Merlin resisted the urge to stick his tongue out and instead gave him a cheeky smile. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“Shut up?” Merlin replied.

“You guessed it,” Arthur gave him a fake smile and continued to eat.  


* * *

  
In conclusion, Merlin still has a very bad feelingTM and wasn’t any closer to changing Arthur’s mind. It was too late anyway. The only thing Merlin could do was make sure he’s next to Arthur if he needs protection. 

The competitors began arriving soon after, and Arthur collectively greeted them in the Great Hall. Merlin did a quick scan of the crowd to keep an eye out on the obvious assassins. Of course, most assassins do not wear an “I’m an assassin” sign; but Merlin wanted to narrow down the list as much as possible. By the end of the speech, Merlin concluded that all of them seem… normal. Normal for sorcerers, that is. 

“So… _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said as the competitors were led away to their quarters. The tourney was to be held at high noon, and they were to take that time to rest from their long journeys. “There’s a lot of people here, a lot of wizards,” Arthur continued. 

“Wizards, yes,” Merlin agreed.

“Who do you think will win?” Arthur asked. They both left through the servant’s entrance and took the short-cut to Arthur’s chambers. 

“How am I supposed to know?” Merlin asked. Merlin didn’t think about running a magic scan since that would give away his position of being a warlock. So, Merlin would have no idea until he gets a taste of their magic. Well, not taste but a snippet of their magic could be enough to determine their strength.

“I don’t know, use your… senses,” Arthur said. Senses? Merlin narrowed his eyes. 

“What senses might these be?” Merlin asked. Did Arthur know about Merlin’s magic? If he did, why doesn’t he say so?

“You know, your, um, weird…? Senses,” Arthur said, uncertainty. Merlin was prevented from answering when Arthur caught sight of Gwen. “Guinevere!” Arthur exclaimed. Merlin saw Gwen turn around and smile brightly. Arthur wore a similar love-sick expression. 

Gwen and Arthur’s relationship was one of those which makes you want to leave the room before the love pollens attack you. Well, Merlin was already in love but came to terms with his unrequited love a while back. He knew nothing could come out of his pathetic little crush. But it still hurt whenever Gwen and Arthur interacted. 

“Arthur! Merlin! I trust the welcome speech is over?” Gwen asked. Arthur took her hand and kissed her knuckles before holding her hand and walking with her. Merlin silently rolled his eyes at their backs. 

“Yes, it is. I was heading back to my chambers. Will you join me?” Arthur asked. Dammit, now Merlin can’t be in Arthur’s chambers. Dammit.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have to leave soon though, in case any of the guests require me,” Gwen said. Now, don’t get Merlin wrong. He loved Gwen. She was the best person ever. And Merlin was happy that it was Arthur who she was seeing. Merlin knows that they won’t necessarily break each other’s hearts since their each other’s true love. Merlin just always wished that he never fell in love with Arthur in the first place. 

“Erm, I need to go see if Gaius needs anything,” Merlin lied. He needed an excuse to get out of there as soon as possible. “He needs my help to prepare the emergency kits,” Merlin said, which wasn’t necessarily a lie. The kits were finished, they just needed to be packed. 

“Oh,” Arthur said. “Alright, I guess. Will you be here before the tourney?” Arthur asked. Gwen gave him a small smile. 

“Don’t worry, I know you can’t dress on your own. I’ll be there,” Merlin gave them a wave before turning and heading towards Gaius’s chambers. 

“Oi! I’ll have you know that I can dress just fine!” Arthur retorted. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, _sire_ ,” Merlin said over his shoulder. He heard Gwen laugh and Arthur protest before turning over the corner.  


* * *

  
Merlin didn’t have anything to do, for the time being, so he decided he’d spy on a few of the sorcerers. Each guest-chamber housed three sorcerers each. He’d go under the guise of serving them while listening for some danger. 

The first group seemed average, they were discussing the tourney when Merlin entered. They ceased talking about magic as soon as they saw Merlin and hesitated before starting again. Old habits die hard. Merlin smiled at them and asked them if they needed anything. They refused, saying that everything was in order, and dismissed him. 

The next few groups were just about the same. Occasionally one would ask a few curious questions about the tourney, which Merlin would answer to the best of his ability. None of the sorcerers seemed to have the intent of killing. 

Merlin wondered if a few Druids would participate too. So far, none of the sorcerers recognized Merlin and didn’t attempt to speak to him telepathically. Merlin shuddered at the thought. Mind speak always felt intrusive; sometimes it was hard to distinguish between his thoughts and another’s voice. Merlin made a note to inform any Druids to keep quiet about his identity. 

Honestly, why was Merlin so afraid of Arthur finding out? Magic is welcome in Camelot, and all the sorcerers are being treated as normal people. But Merlin wasn’t normal, was he? He’s made a handful of questionable choices in the past, all of which still weigh him down. The screams of Camelot’s people during Kilgarrah’s attack still plague his dreams. Morgana’s expression of disbelief and betrayal still follows him around like a ghost. Not to mention the people he’s killed. It’s deeds like these which weigh him down; which stops him from telling Arthur everything. All his sacrifices seem insignificant in front of his mistakes. 

Merlin didn’t notice the person in front of him until he walked straight into them. He hit his head to something hard and his steps flattered for a bit. His head hurt like hell. What did he just bump into? Merlin looked up and saw a man- about the same height and build as Leon- step back a bit. 

“Oh I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking-” The man started to apologize. He looked at Merlin holding his head in his arms and seemed to realize that he was hurt. “Oh my, are you alright? I really didn’t see you there, I don’t know-”

“I’m fine-” Merlin began saying, but the man was apparently hell-bent on apologizing. 

“No really, um, let me-” He said and moved to inspect Merlin’s head. Merlin shook his head and grabbed his hand to gently lower it down.

“I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt,” Merlin lied. What was the man made of, rocks? “I should be the one apologizing, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” Merlin tried to explain. 

“If you say so…” The man said, uncertainty. 

Merlin nodded and smiled, trying to look convincing. “Yes, I’m sure. Sorry, you probably need to be somewhere,” Merlin said. The man smiled and nodded. 

“Yes, uh, this is embarrassing. I might have lost my way back to the guest quarters?” The man scratched the back of his neck. 

“I might be able to help, I work here,” Merlin said. So the man was a sorcerer. “Do you remember anything about how your chambers looked?” Merlin asked. 

“I remember seeing a tapestry with a flower pot nearby, it was on the second floor, I believe.” He said. _Very helpful_ Merlin thought. Tapestries and flowers littered the castle. Well at least, it was on the second floor, which narrows it down a bit. 

“The guest quarters are this way,” Merlin directed. “It’s a big castle, it’s easy to get lost. Follow me,” he said. He’d just have to figure it out on the way. 

“I’m Darven, by the way,” The man, Darven said. 

“Merlin, nice to meet you,” Merlin answered. The second floor of the guest quarters had about five rooms, which were mostly occupied. “Do you remember any of the people you were staying with?” Merlin asked.

“I only met one, he was middle-aged and kinda short,” Darven said. Well, Merlin does not know any of the occupants of these rooms. Damn. “Oh wait, I remember the window faced the courtyard and had a perfect view of the gates!” Darven said. Well, that helped. The rooms at the side were definitely not it, since they faced the walls. The only one with a view of the courtyard was the one at the far end of the chambers, which is probably Darven’s. 

“I think I know where your room is,” Merlin said, and guided him towards the chambers. Darven seemed to recognize the chambers, and probably couldn’t find them because it was further off from the other four. 

“Thank you!” Darven said. Merlin gave him a polite smile and bowed, wanting to get out and continue his inspections. Thankfully, that seemed to be the end of the little meeting. 

Unfortunately, it was already time to dress Arthur. He probably had a couple more groups to spy on, but there was no time. Arthur would be insufferable if he’s late. 

Gwen wasn’t in the chambers when Merlin entered, which was a blessing. He wasn’t sure how much of the lovely couple he could take. He didn’t want to find out. 

Arthur was fairly quiet, probably trying to memorize yet another speech. Merlin was tired of drafting these speeches. What is it with the Royals and their countless speeches? Just say one and get over with it. 

Merlin didn’t try to speak either; there was no point. He’ll just have to be extra cautious. 

Merlin dressed Arthur in a classic red tunic with brown breeches and paired it with his crown. Arthur looked spectacular if you asked Merlin, and if he could he’d leave it at that. But chainmail and armor was a must. He knew how much Arthur preferred casual clothing, but it wasn’t a reason to jeopardize Arthur’s safety. Merlin would make sure he’s always protected, and then some. 

“Ready?” Arthur asked. 

Merlin picked up Arthur’s sword from the table and examined it. Merlin would feel better if Arthur carried Excalibur, but this would have to do for now. Merlin nodded and handed the sword to Arthur, who sheathed it immediately. “Lead the way, _milord_.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and flashed Merlin his easy-going smile. Merlin felt the corners of his lips tug up, which was inconvenient since he was trying to look reluctant. As they left the chambers, the feeling of dread returned. Merlin clenched his hand and forced himself to follow Arthur.  


* * *

  
The people were already there, but their usual cheer and enthusiasm were missing. It was replaced with uncertain chatter and observing eyes, each one of them curious to see what today has in place. It was the first public display of magic for nearly all of them. 

There were the elders, eager to relive the memories of their childhood. There were the young, who were ready to create more memories. There were the adults, the ones who were stuck in the middle. They had no memories and no flexibility. They didn’t have a child’s curiosity and an elder's acceptance. They were the ones who chartered the most, but with voices barely above a whisper. 

There were the competitors, who were moved into tents for preparation. There was the staff, ready to cater to their needs. There were Arthur’s most trusted Knights, extra attentive as per Merlin’s request, as most were Merlin’s friends before Arthur’s Knights, who bowed to Arthur as he entered the dais. 

Gwaine greeted Merlin with his casual flirty winks and pats, Lancelot with an easy smile and hair-ruffling, Percival with a cheerful handshake, Elyan with a slightly aggressive but friendly punch, and Leon with his ever so serious nod before resuming their professional ‘I’m-a-very-scary-knight-fear-me’ stance. Merlin gave them all a wave and what he hoped was a convincing smile, as he still wasn’t able to shake off his sense of dread. 

The crowd quietened their chatter when the participants entered the grounds, each one curious to see the first magical tournament in nearly three decades. It was so unlike a regular tourney, the air would be filled with people’s cheers at this point. 

Arthur stepped down and stood in front of the wizards. They were aligned in two rows and were diverse. Merlin could see each one was different from the other, ranging from aspiring teenagers and head-strong adults to uncertain youngsters and stoic warriors. There were hardly ten competitors, and none of them Druids. Merlin could trust Druids to an extent, they were preferred over these strangers with different backgrounds. Merlin and the Druids were going to talk soon. 

“Thank you for stepping forward and competing for a position in my court,” Arthur began. “I admire your bravery and respect your skills, and I wish every one of you the best.”

“However, I am in no such position to judge magic, I only am a King and a Knight,” Arthur continued, and Merlin just knew he did something. “And so, the judge of today’s tournament will be Affodill, a Druid who kindly took up my request.” 

It was then that Merlin noticed the much less decorative chair beside Arthur’s throne and the woman with the red hair who entered practically out of nowhere. Merlin could swear that she wasn’t there a minute ago. Curse Druids and their uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere. 

Merlin was furious that Arthur went and consulted a Druid without informing Merlin. He didn’t have to tell Merlin everything, of course, but he always did. How did he know where to find one? What else does Arthur know? 

Merlin tried to convey his frustration and confusion through a glare, but Arthur had his back turned. Merlin changed his glare to a pleading stare and directed it towards Affodill, who was already staring at Merlin. She pointed towards her head, and Merlin gave a reluctant nod. 

“ _Hello Emrys_ ,” she spoke, and Merlin had to suppress a shudder. Merlin broke eye contact and stared straight ahead at Arthur’s head, hoping she doesn’t notice how much he hates this. 

“ _I hope you are aware that I can read your thoughts, my lord_ ,” she continued. Dammit. 

“Affodill, who is well versed in the magical community…” Arthur continued speaking.

“ _Apologies, Afflodill. And... um, maybe not refer to me as ‘my lord’?_ “ Merlin said, through the telepathic link. 

“ _Understood, my- Emrys._ ”

“ _Also refrain from calling me Emrys? I, um… Arthur doesn’t know._ ”

“One might think that I grew up without any magical influences, but I only recently figured out the importance of magic in my life…” Arthur went on. Merlin doesn’t remember writing all that. 

“ _I gathered, Em- Merlin_ ,” she said, her voice growing more and more uncertain by the second. Merlin struggled to pay attention to Arthur’s words while continuing a telepathic link and decided to tune out of Arthur’s speech. 

“ _I trust you’ll protect my secret?_ ” 

“ _I apologize for intruding, but why is it a secret? Magic isn’t outlawed, my lord._ ”

“ _Merlin_ ," he reminded. " _And it’s complicated, just… don’t tell him. You haven’t told him, have you?_ ” 

Merlin saw that Arthur had finished his speech and was returning towards the dais. Merlin gave him a good, long, hard glare, and Arthur only raised an eyebrow. Merlin gave him one last look before turning away, and Arthur settled down on his throne, Affoldill doing the same. 

“No, he doesn’t know,” Affodill assured. Merlin gave her a grateful nod and dedicated his full attention to the tournament. He did one last scan of the crowd, searching for any visible weapons. 

The first competitor stepped forward, looking like he stepped out of a “Typical Wizards Looks” book. Merlin’s never read one, but he’s sure there had to be a book on that topic. He was old, probably close to Gaius’ age, and had hair similar to Dragoon's. He wore a purple robe and carried a long stick, which was probably a fashionable factor. Merlin had to suppress a chuckle, and a quick look at Affodill said she had to do the same. 

“My lord,” the Build-Your-Wizard wizard bowed down and straightened his back. “My name is Elfryn,” seriously, is that really his name? 

“ _It sure seems like it_ ,” said Affodill’s voice, and Merlin may have jumped out of his skin. God fucking dammit. 

“I am honored to display my skill sets to you, and I hope you enjoy it.” Elfryn continued. 

“ _I say he’s a beginner_ ,” Merlin said. 

“ _Bet_.” 

Elfryn closed his eyes and stretched his arm out, muttering a spell Merlin couldn’t hear. His eyes flashed gold, and on his palm was an orb of light hovering. He did a little jerking motion and the light flew towards the sky, where it stopped. He muttered another spell and the ball of light grew in size until it exploded. 

The crowd gasped and a few shrieked, but most were ready to dash out of their seats. Merlin was ready to cast a spell of his own to shield the ones close to him but saw that the light only exploded into other tiny little lights. 

“Not bad,” Arthur muttered. 

Merlin relaxed a bit and leaned a bit closer to him. “Yes, very flashy.”

“ _Impressive but a bit useless_ ,” Affodill said. 

“ _Well, if I need help lighting up a cave I’d call him_ ,” Merlin jokes. 

Elfryn bowed once more, signaling the end of his performance. The spectators clapped, albeit a bit reluctantly. Arthur nodded and thanked Elfryn for his display, and Elfryn looked ecstatic. 

It was easy to forget how magic was now legal, and Merlin understood Elfryn. The sorcerers of Camelot sometimes forgot that they were now free, and the feeling of showing off your magic was beautiful and scary at the same time. 

“ _I forget sometimes too. And um… you know that you can block me from reading your thoughts, sire?_ ” Affodill said, and Merlin cursed. Affodill gave an apologetic smile and Merlin focused on putting a barrier from his thoughts. One might think being the greatest sorcerer ever meant that you were smart. 

Arthur leaned over to Affodill, and the two engaged in a conversation. Merlin could barely hear them over the cheers of the crowds. 

The next competitor was a young woman with a black knee-length dress and black leggings. She introduced herself as Lora and addressed Affodill as well as Arthur. Merlin liked her. 

Merlin did another scan of the arena, once again finding nothing but the whispers of the crowd, as Lora prepared for her show. As much as Merlin liked her, she was still an unknown sorcerer. 

Lora took her time, her head down and arms by her side, while the crowd grew more and more restless. Lora crouched down, and Merlin made out her natural element as Earth. She muttered an enchantment and placed a hand on the ground. The area around her changed from brown to fresh grassy green, and a single flower bloomed in front of her. She stood up, and the crowd erupted in cheer, this time, bolder. 

“The flower’s pretty,” Merlin told Arthur, who nodded in agreement. Arthur thanked her for her splendid performance, and Lora looked just as pleased as Elfryn did. 

“ _She isn’t so bad_ ,” said Affodill’s voice. 

“ _I like her, she’s good_ ,” Merlin replied. Arthur and Affodill once again discussed her credibility, while Lora bowed and retreated and another magician took her place. 

This time, it was a middle-aged woman, who had brown hair with greying roots. She introduced herself as Muriel and greeted her King. Her element was fire, Merlin could make it out easily. She had a fierce aura, despite her appearance as a clam woman. She summoned a flame, which glowed orange. She muttered a spell, and the flame turned blue, and another, which turned the flame red. She extinguished the flame with a flick of her hand and bowed. 

“ _I’ve seen that spell before, the Druids use it to make their flames hotter_ ,” Affodill said. 

“Speaking of Druids, why aren’t they participating?” Merlin asked, and realized his mistake when Arthur turned and raised a questioning eyebrow. God. Fucking. Dammit. Why is telepathy so confusing?

“Druids? Who said anything about them?” Arthur asked, and Affodill turned towards Merlin, her eyes growing wide. 

“Nothing, just curious,” Merlin replied with a cheeky grin. Arthur scoffed and turned towards Affodill, and began discussing Muriel's performance. 

“ _We Druids are not political in nature, we will work as advisors if required. But that isn’t what the King needs. He needs more than that_ ,” Affodill said. 

Merlin nodded, still a bit embarrassed at his mix up. 

The next participant was Philip, who also played with fire. It wasn’t as impressive as Lora’s but it was something. Hugh was next and summoned a mini-tornado, which was mostly just mild wind. Audrey brought along a ball of yarn and needle, which was confusing at first. But then he muttered a spell and the ball began knitting itself, and the yarn turned into a scarf which he presented to Affodill, who blushed and accepted it. 

“ _He’s pretty nice isn’t he, Affodill?_ ” Merlin teased. 

Affodill rolled her eyes and turned towards Merlin. “ _I don’t necessarily prefer the company of men_ ,” she said, her voice a bit quieter than normal. 

Merlin smiled, “ _nor I of women_ ,” Merlin winked, knowing that it must have been hard to admit that. Affodill looked at him for a few seconds, her eyes wide and uncertain, before grinning hard. Merlin couldn’t help but return it. 

“ _You have no clue how many Druidic women want to have your children_ ,” Affodill said, her voice more teasing than serious. 

“ _Ew children_ ,” Merlin said, and fake barfed. Affodill snorted and quickly covered her mouth. 

“Is everything alright my lady?” Arthur asked, and Affodill shook her head. Merlin silently mimicked Arthur behind his back, and Affodill green eyes narrowed at Merlin, trying to desperately cover up a laugh. 

“Perfectly fine, my lord. Please just call me Affodill,” she finally said, and looked back at Merlin again, trying to look angry but looked more amused. 

Arthur turned and looked at whatever she was looking at, which happened to be Merlin, who quickly looked away. 

The tournament continued, and Merlin found himself growing more and more relaxed. He was enjoying the displays of magic, no matter how simple or easy. These people were suppressed for all their lives, and now they have the chance to show their worth. The crowd was now completely into the tournament, cheering, gasping, and clapping for every display. 

The last one was someone Merlin already met, Darven. Darven looked too confident for Merlin’s liking. Merlin felt himself tense up again, while also being hyper-aware of everything around him. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he knew something was off. But one look at Affodill told him she didn’t feel the same. 

Darven summoned a flame, but it was charged with little sparks of electricity. Another spell shaped it into a flaming electric lion, which looked very impressive. It was a mix of two different elements and required a fairly large amount of magic. Merlin wanted to enjoy the show, but the magic was off. Darven smirked and nodded at the lion, which did a loop around him. 

The crowd was captivated, screaming, and applauding at the electric flaming lion’s every move. The lion in the middle of the loop broke into a sprint, charging forward. In four quick strides, it was in front of the dais, and neither the lion nor Darven showed any signs of stopping. Merlin knew they weren’t going to. 

In a blink of an eye, the lion was meters away from Arthur, its intentions clear. Arthur showed no signs of moving. Oh, but Merlin did. Merlin knew exactly what spell was used, as Merlin has made countless dragons out of the same spell. A flash of gold and the lion dispersed into little sparkles, falling right in between Merlin and Arthur. 

And the goddamn crowd cheered. 

And Arthur clapped. 

Merlin could feel Darven’s confused stare, but it was covered up by his slightly reluctant bow. 

Merlin looked at Affodill, she must know what happened, right? But she looked on at Darven in awe, clapping along with the crowd and praising him. 

They all thought it was a part of the show.  


* * *

  
“ _It wasn’t a part of the show_ ,” Merlin told Affodill, interrupting her conversation with Arthur. She stopped clapping and looked at Merlin in confusion. “ _The lion was going straight for Arthur_.”

“ _But it stopped?_ ” Affodill asked. 

“ _I stopped it, my magic told me something was off, or else it would have been too late_ ,” Merlin explained. 

Affodill looked at him with wide eyes, slightly afraid. “ _Arthur just told me he’d pick Darven_ ,” she replied, her face turning horrified. 

“ _No. You need to tell him to stop._ ”

“Merlin, did you listen to anything I’ve said?” Arthur interrupted, his mouth set in a tight line, indicating that he was annoyed. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Merlin asked, looking back at Darven, who had already cleared the arena. 

“ _I’ve already told him it was a brilliant idea_ ,” Merlin turned to Affodill, who looked pale and frightened. “ _Forgive me, Emrys, what do we do?_ ” 

“Forget it,” Arthur huffed and turned away, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“ _I would have vouched for him if he weren’t hell-bent on killing Arthur_ ,” Merlin told her. He could deal with Arthur and his mood swings later. 

“ _I'll convince Arthur to not pick him_ ,” Merlin tried to stay positive, Arthur might look like he doesn't care, but he’ll listen at least.  


* * *

  
Arthur picked him.

Not only did he pick him, but he was also admiring him. 

“What about Lora? She’s decent and respectful. Or, or Muriel, she’s very fiery. Heck, Elfryn wasn’t bad. Just, not Darven,” Merlin said, walking faster to catch up. 

“No Merlin, Darven is great,” They were at Arthur’s chambers at this point, and he told Merlin to take off his armor. 

“He isn’t very trustworthy. He gave off this weird feeling,” Merlin tried to explain, whilst removing Arthur’s chainmail. 

“How could you possibly know that, Merlin?”

Merlin hastily removed his gambeson, trying to keep Arthur’s face covered while trying to think of a reason. “Um, Affodill told me.” 

“Oh yes, of course, she did,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “What else did she tell? Or were you too busy _staring at each other?_ ” 

Merlin paused, confused. Arthur was looking at him with something Merlin couldn’t name. Anger? Why would he be angry? “I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Merlin replied, stepping away to pick out Arthur’s robes for the fest. 

Arthur let out a scoff, crossing his arms and waiting for Merlin to pick. “Of course you don’t,” Arthur said, his voice a bit lower than usual. Merlin turned and raised a questioning eyebrow, but Arthur was already glaring at Merlin. 

“Where’s this coming from?” Merlin asked, turning around and scanning his closet. Merlin picked out a white tunic and black trousers and a belt and decided to pair it with Arthur’s silver crown. The combination would bring out his eyes, and it was a bit different than usual. 

Merlin turned and gestured Arthur to raise his arms, who complied, although with a foul expression. 

“Oh I don’t know,” Arthur began, his voice getting muffled as Merlin struggled to get the tunic over his head. “Maybe because you ignored me the whole tournament,” Merlin pulled hard, making Arthur grunt. “And was busy smiling and staring like a love-sick fool,” Arthur said, just as Merlin finally got the tunic over his gigantic head. 

“I’m sorry what?” Merlin exclaimed, his brows shooting up. Arthur just stared at him, glowering. “I am not,” emphasized Merlin, “in love with Affodill and neither is she. And that isn’t even the point!”

Merlin shoved the trousers to Arthur’s arm, moving away from him. His face was still pinched, and Merlin couldn’t fathom why. 

“Pray to tell, Merlin, what is the point?” Arthur asked, putting on his trousers. He looked away, scowling. 

“God lord Arthur, I’m trying to look out for you,” Merlin replied, frustrated. “Darven is out here to kill you, and I’m not going to stand by and watch him do it! Just pick someone else, please,” Merlin begged, his patience running out. 

Arthur paused, his expression morphing into one of confusion. “You have no proof of that,” Arthur said. “I’m picking Daven and that’s it.”

Merlin gaped, very well aware of how he probably looked like a fish. Arthur turned away, grabbing his sword belt, and fastening it around himself. Fine. 

Merlin squared his shoulders, picking up Arthur’s ceremonial sword, obviously checking it before handing it over. He picked up Arthur’s crown from his drawers, and placed it on the table, not bothering to place it on Arthur’s head himself. 

Arthur still had to wear his cape and boots, but Merlin didn’t care right now. “If you’ll excuse me, sire,” Merlin said and didn’t wait for an answer.  


* * *

  
Merlin ignored Arthur for the whole feast. He did his job as a servant but didn’t speak to Arthur. He was too busy being mad and glaring at Darven. 

Besides Arthur sat Affodill, who tried to refill her goblet on her own. Her plate wasn’t as full as the others, she refused to eat more than she had to. Merlin rushed over and took the jug away from her, reminding her that she didn’t have to do that. “Did you manage to convince him?” She whispered as soon as Merlin was near. Merlin shook his head. 

“He won’t listen to me,” Merlin whispered back.

“I’ll try to-” 

“Merlin,” Arthur yelled. “My goblet’s empty,” he gestured to his goblet. Merlin sighed and moved over to refill Arthur’s goblet, which was in fact half full. Snob.

Darven was seated with the other competitors, who were offering their compliments. Merlin continued to observe him from the shadows, make sure to follow his every move. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, which was suspicious on its own. 

Darven caught Merlin’s eye, who didn’t break eye contact. Merlin tried to convey his distaste through his stare, but Darven just turned away and continued conversing with the ones around him. 

The night was spent similarly. Affodill would call Merlin over to discuss their plans, Arthur would interrupt, and Merlin would observe Darven at every opportunity. 

“How long will you stay?” Merlin whispered to Affodill, who had signaled him over to refill her glass. 

“I leave once things are settled. Arthur had asked me to evaluate the person he chooses,” Affodill whispered back. Arthur once again interrupted their conversation, and Merlin wasn’t having it. 

“Okay that’s enough wine for you,” Merlin said, refusing to refill his glass. Arthur was already half-drunk, his demeanor loses and his words slurring. “We’re leaving.” 

“Wineee,” Arthur slurred. Merlin sighed and shook his head. For a King, Arthur was a very sloppy drunk. Merlin needed to get him out of here before he made a fool of himself. 

Merlin waved at Leon, the only one who was sensible enough to not get drunk. Merlin gestured towards Arthur and the exit, and Leon nodded in understanding. Leon was Arthur’s most trusted knight, he’ll take care of the rest. Lancelot was also a good option, but he was too busy making heart eyes at Gwen. 

“I’m sorry, I need to get him out of here,” Merlin told Affodill, who smiled. “The night is still young, please enjoy,” Merlin said. 

“Oh, I will, Em- Merlin. Look after your King,” Affodill said, shooting him away. 

“Merlinnn,” Arthur whined, leaning on Merlin as he tried to get him to stand up. Merlin sagged under his weight, but no one seemed to notice, too drunk or otherwise occupied to care. 

“Sire,” Merlin grunted, trying to make Arthur walk. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Merlin said, leading him away from the hall. 

“Hmm bed,” Arthur sighed, resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder. He tightened his arms around Merlin, nuzzling his neck. Merlin tried to calm his heart, which was currently threatening to burst out of his chest. A very unfortunate end for the greatest sorcerer. 

They arrived at Arthur’s door after minutes of stumbling and pulling and pushing. Merlin propped Arthur against the bed, trying to keep him upright as he stripped him off of his clothes. Merlin removed his sword belt and crown placing them on the side table for now. 

He picked up Arthur’s nightclothes and tried to get Arthur out of his clothes, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“Merlin noo,” Arthur said, his eyes drooping. “You didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t do what?” 

“Crown me,” Arthur said, dragging the last word. Merlin frowned, his head tilting to his side in confusion. “Crown me,” Arthur said, smiling and pointing towards his crown. Merlin looked back and forth between the crown and Arthur, who wore a hopeful expression. 

Merlin swore to never let Arthur get drunk again. 

Merlin sighed and picked up the crown and placed it on Arthur’s head, who smiled even wider. “So you’re not mad anymore?” 

“No, Arthur, I’m not mad, only worried,” Merlin explained. Arthur’s face dropped, his eyebrows drawing together. 

“Don’t be,” he said and reached up to ruffle Merlin’s hair. Merlin would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good. Arthur fell back on the bed, ignoring Merlin’s protests. 

“You can’t sleep with your crown on-” Merlin’s protests were answered with snores. Merlin rolled his eyes and tugged the crown away, and then tucking in Arthur. He placed the crown in its drawer and his sword on the arms table then blew out the candles. 

“Goodnight, Arthur.”  


* * *

  
Merlin wasn’t sure what he expected would happen after the tournament, but it wasn’t this. 

_This_ was Arthur and Darven laughing and chatting like old friends, while Darven showed off his very much basic skills in magic. But Arthur didn’t know that. He was hanging on to every word and action of Darven. 

And no, Merlin wasn’t jealous. He was stronger and more powerful than Darven. There was nothing to be jealous of. 

“He’s great,” Arthur said, watching Darven and Affodill speak. Affodill was trying to crack Darven’s motives and plans as per Merlin’s request. Lancelot was doing the same whenever Merlin or Affodill weren’t around. 

Merlin followed Darven around everywhere. (No, Merlin wasn’t stalking, he was only observing. And it isn't wrong until you get caught). It bugged him to no end that Darven was normal. He stayed in the castle and always kept it to himself. A sweep of his ‘official’ chambers gave no magical items or harmful substances or anything. 

Merlin’s theory was that he meant to kill Arthur in the tourney, but didn’t count on his plan failing. And now he was confused. 

“He isn’t great,” Merlin replied, slightly annoyed. The worst of all, Arthur didn’t shut up about his “skills.” If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d say Arthur liked Darven. _Like_ like. 

“Forget it, Merlin, your pea-sized brain couldn’t comprehend greatness,” Arthur said, taking a seat at the Round Table. Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur’s creativity. It was an unofficial meeting, only filled with Arthur, Affodill, Darven, and Gaius. Gwen was present too, she being Affodill’s temporary maid despite Affodill’s protests. 

Today was going to be Darven’s first interview, and Merlin couldn’t wait. He had a list of questions prepared, which he would tell Affodill telepathically. 

“So, Darven, how long have you been practicing magic?” Affodill asked, giving Merlin a short nod. “Be honest, please,” Arthur added. 

“One year,” Darven said in his annoyingly high pitched voice. Arthur nodded, and so did Affodill. 

“Which element do you practice in?” Affodill asked. 

“Fire, mostly, and sometimes air,” Darven answered. 

“Who taught you?” 

Darven hesitated. 

“This is an interview, Darven, not an integration. Please don’t be afraid,” Arthur reassured. 

Darven looked at Affodill, who nodded. “My lord, I lived with the Druids as a child,” Affodill raised a criticizing eyebrow, but Darven didn’t flinch. “I left them when things got a bit… hard, and tried to suppress my magic for a long time.”

“I see, very well,” Affodill said, her eyes catching Merlin’s.

“ _I’m not sure if I trust that he’s a Druid_ ,” Affodill whispered telepathically. Merlin tilted his head in confusion. “ _His magic is wrong, I wonder how I missed it, it’s always been there_ ,” she elaborated. 

Merlin turned to continue glaring at Darven, determined to at least make him feel unwelcome. Darven blissfully ignored him.

“ _Ask why he believes he’s fit to serve the King_ ,” Merlin instructed. Affodill nodded and repeated the question. 

“I’ve protected myself all these years, I like to think I’m capable enough.” 

“That isn’t the same thing,” Merlin spoke out loud. Arthur rolled his eyes and turned, giving him a pointed look.

“I think, what Merlin means to say, sire, is that he’ll have to protect all of Camelot, not just himself,” Affodill spoke up. Merlin really liked her. Why couldn’t she be the Court Sorcerer again? 

“That would include placing protective charms on the castle walls, vaults, dungeons, and all that,” Merlin further stated. “As Affodill told me, isn’t that right?” Merlin added as an afterthought because Arthur was giving him a weird look. Merlin didn’t like that look.

But that just seemed to sour Arthur’s mood, and Merlin wondered if Arthur suspected. When Affodill nodded, Arthur looked away, jaw clenched. 

“I’m sure my charms will hold,” Darven replied, oblivious to everyone’s mood. 

“Well, that concludes the interview. You’re hired,” Arthur declared.

“But my lord, there are some more questions-” Affodill began to protest. 

Arthur ignored her, standing up and clasping his hands together. “Meeting adjourned.”

“Arthur wait-” Merlin tried to stop Arthur from just walking away from an unfinished meeting, but Arthur just ignored him.

“Can I leave?” Darven asked, still oblivious to Merlin’s mood. 

“Leave,” Merlin said, making sure to let all his hatred for that guy bleed into his voice. Darven just shrugged and left, leaving Merlin with a very confused Gwen, a baffled Affodill, and a resigned Gaius. 

“Well, that’s that,” Gaius said, and got up and left. Not him too!

“Okay, what is going on right now,” Merlin asked, very confused and frustrated. Affodill shrugged. “Alright, Gwen, could you please go talk to that clotpole?”

“I think you should, he'd listen,” Gwen replied, lips falling into a thin line.

“Nonsense. Please?” Merlin asked, trying to do his best kicked-puppy expression despite his sour mood. It worked. Gwen sighed and nodded, leaving. 

“That went well,” Affodill stated, getting up from her chair. “I’ll just-” she gestured towards the door, seemingly waiting for Merlin to dismiss her, for some reason.

“Just go,” Merlin waved her off. He slammed his head back to the wall and winced at the pain. The doors closed behind her, the sound echoing through the empty hall. Merlin left out a long sigh, contemplating ways to end someone’s life without committing actual murder. Even if Merlin did figure out how, he'd have a hard time deciding who to kill, Darven, Arthur, or himself?  


* * *

  
_His magic sored, aching to be let free. His surroundings were a dull grey. He was alone, once more._

_Merlin could feel his magic tingling beneath his skin, the only barrier between his magic and destruction. It was begging him to let go._

_What would it feel like, letting his magic take control?_

_Merlin felt numb. Should he care about the consequences?_

_No. He won’t. He let go._

Merlin slowly opened his eyes, feeling weirdly at peace. 

The dream didn’t leave him desperately grabbing the sheets or thrashing around like a man possessed. It felt like a normal dream.

But that was wrong. He shouldn’t feel calm after thinking about destruction. He shouldn’t be okay with letting go. He should have woken up thrashing. He should have woken up screaming. He doesn’t know what happened after, but he knew it wasn’t something innocent. 

The thought broke something in him. Sitting on his bed, legs crossed, staring at nothing, felt wrong. Breathing felt wrong. Blinking felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. So he did nothing.

His eyes stung from staring for so long, he could feel tears pricking his eyes. He tried to rub them away, only to notice that his hands were shaking. 

He snapped out of his trance. Somewhere along the line, the sun had already risen. It was time to get up. 

Gaius was still asleep when Merlin got out of his room. He didn’t want to wake him up. He could skip breakfast, for now, he’ll just nick something from Arthur’s.

It was rush hour in the kitchens, and Merlin tried to weave his way through all the servants and cooks without speaking to anybody. The King’s tray was on its usual spot, filled with bacon and eggs and fruits. Merlin picked it up and got out as soon as he could.  
Arthur was still asleep when Merlin entered, no surprise there. Merlin placed the tray on his desk and moved to the windows to yank the curtains open. “Rise and shine!” Merlin repeated, following the routine. Arthur groaned, turning away from the light. “Get up Arthur, it’s late,” Merlin tried. 

“Gwen’s at the door, waiting to come in,” Merlin tried again. Arthur only gave him a thumbs up. “Alright, then you won’t mind me doing this,” Merlin picked up a pillow and proceeded to lightly (lies) whack Arthur with it. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, outraged, and yanked the pillow out of Merlin’s hand. Merlin knew what was coming, and ducked just before the pillow went flying over his head. “This is treason. I’ll have you hanged for this,” Arthur mumbled. 

“Good morning to you too, sire,” Merlin replied and picked out Arthur’s outfit for the day. Arthur huffed, but got up and sat at his desk, picking at his food. Merlin did his usual routine clean up in silence. He didn’t feel like speaking today. 

Merlin dressed Arthur once he was done, but didn’t follow him towards the Council Meeting. Maybe he’ll restock Gaius’s herbs today. 

Gaius was awake and running around the chambers, making Merlin concerned. 

“Helen’s in labor, but there’s this sickness in the lower town again,” Gaius explained, packing his medical bag. “I’ll go assist her, but could you make the tinctures? I don’t have the time,” Merlin nodded and shooed Gaius out the door, assuring him that he’d get it done. 

The tinctures weren’t hard to make, it just took a long time to make. He set the paste on the stove and let it boil, which would take a fair amount of time. He’ll chop up some basil leaves in the meantime.  


* * *

  
_“I know your secrets, I know your lies.”_

_It was dark, very dark. Merlin was kneeling on the floor, staring straight ahead._

_“You can’t hide anymore.”_

_The disembodied voice was just a gruff whisper, coming from far away._

_Merlin was locked in place, his legs unwilling to cooperate. He stopped struggling._

_“Why do you care?” Whispered a voice, the same gruff voice, but this time right beside his ear. Merlin didn’t flinch._

_Why did he care? Should he still care?_

Merlin opened his eyes once more, this time, still in the main room. He was sitting with his head on the table, the basil leaves long forgotten. Merlin jerked back, looking out the window. He wasn’t asleep for too long. 

Which was weird, because he doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

He shook his head and stood up, but couldn’t shake away the numbness he was feeling. It was the same as this morning. These weren’t dreams. They can’t be, it didn’t feel like it. It felt like he was living them. 

Merlin shook his head again, composing himself. He should finish the tincture as soon as possible. No scratch that, he needs Arthur. Where’s Arthur? Training grounds? No, war council. 

Merlin doesn’t remember the journey but was now facing the doors of the war council. He could hardly barge in. They’d think something was off. Merlin creaked the door open a bit, and peaked in. Arthur was there, all in one piece. In the middle of a debate with his counselors. He looked fine. 

Merlin sighed and closed the door, trying to be as silent as possible. He’ll just wait out here. He doesn’t feel like leaving Arthur. 

“Hello Merlin,” said a familiar voice. “I was waiting for Arthur here, do you need something?” Darven was standing across from him, hands clasped back. _“Arthur? It’s King Arthur for you,”_ Merlin wanted to say but wasn’t sure anymore. They spent way too much time together. 

“Nothing that concerns you,” Merlin mumbled. Merlin wanted to be as far away as possible from Darven but didn’t want to leave Arthur. Something was telling him to be close to Arthur. Merlin was positive that Darven had something planned. 

“Merlin, Merlin,” he said, in a sing-song voice, standing beside Merlin, and sneaked an arm around his shoulder. Merlin’s magic flared beneath his skin, screaming to be let to, to protect, to hurt. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you don’t like me,” ever since he's got a taste of Darven's magic, his own has been protesting his existence. Merlin ducked from under his arm, trying to escape. 

“Good, just so we’re clear,” Merlin replied, backing away even if he didn’t want to leave Arthur. His magic still hadn’t calmed down. Any longer, Merlin doubts that Darven would be left standing. He needs to leave. Preferably now. 

He turned back and tried to keep his walking pace normal. But once he turned around the corner, he ran. He ran until he was out of the castle, jogged once he left the citadel, and began running once more until he reached the gates of Camelot. _Forest_ , the forest _now_. 

Once he was deep enough (he probably wasn’t but he barely could keep it in), he let go. Merlin could barely see anything, but felt his magic leave and lay around his surroundings like a blanket. A blanket that brought death instead of comfort. 

His knees gave out and he sagged to the ground. A couple of deep breaths later, he worked up the nerve to assess the damage. 

A circle of charred ground extended for about five feet of the radius. The trees were still erect, but dead. The slimy mud dried up, leaving cracks on the leveled ground. The area was dead. 

Merlin felt his eyes water a little. _This_ was why he didn't tell Arthur about his magic. He’d go to great lengths to make sure Arthur was safe. His magic would do the same. Merlin’s magic sometimes had a mind of its own, always making sure to protect him in its own harsh way. 

He was shit at healing. But Merlin would be damned if he didn’t try to reverse his destruction. 

Merlin leaned forward, placing his hands on the ground. The layers below were barren. He could still feel the tendrils of magic from the earth, but they were faint. It would be enough. He’s heard about borrowing magic from the ground, but for now, he’d return it. He’s pretty sure he’s exhausted most of his magic by doing so, but it’s nothing a good night’s rest could fix. 

The earth accepted his apology. The magic wouldn’t return the patch of ground to its original state, but the ground wouldn’t be left barren. New life would grow here, someday.  


* * *

  
The way back was torture. He couldn’t walk straight. His legs felt like lead. His arms probably fell off somewhere, or at least that’s what it felt like. His head probably exploded somehow. Merlin wasn’t sure. 

To the outside world, he probably looked drunk. He could hardly care. If he could, he’d probably fall asleep right the fucking now. He’s pretty sure he’s running on autopilot. He doesn’t remember entering the citadel. 

“Merlin,” a voice called out from behind him. He couldn’t care less, just kept walking. Bed, now. The voice called out again, closer this time. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone again? “Merlin, you look dead,” said the voice, now right next to him. Merlin felt an arm around his shoulder and two fingers on his neck and feared it was Darven again. Stupid, stupid, Darven. 

He turned to check, and it was only Lancelot. Sweet, _sweet_ , Lancelot. Sweet, _noble_ Lancelot. Lancelot would understand if he passed out now, right? “Sleep, bed,” yeah, he’d understand. “Thanks,” Merlin slurred and passed out.  


* * *

  
_Merlin couldn’t see a thing. Something cold encircled his wrist. Shackles. His legs felt numb. He was aware that he was on the floor, laying on his side._

_Something was off. He felt empty._

_He tried to reach for it, but it wasn't there._

_It just... wasn't._

That was the first time Merlin woke up thrashing in the past two days. For a second, he felt the lines between dreams and reality overlap. He couldn’t see anything. His legs were numb. He still felt empty. 

No, he couldn’t see anything because it was dark. He couldn’t feel his legs because he was tired from running too much. He felt empty because he exhausted almost all of his magic. 

He tried to check his wrist to check. He couldn’t move anymore. He was tied down or held down. The darkness made it hard to see, but Merlin didn’t care. He resumed thrashing and kicking, and the thing holding him down grunted wherever Merlin managed to kick it. He wanted his magic back.

“Merlin, Merlin stop,” the thing said in a familiar tone. “It’s Arthur, stop kicking you moron,” oh. Merlin stopped struggling, his body finally going limp from exhaustion. He checked again, and yes, his magic was safe. Only exhausted. 

“What,” Merlin gasped out, his voice hoarse, only just realizing how thirsty he was. “Water.” 

“Are you going to start kicking again?” Arthur asked, easing his weight off Merlin. Merlin shook his head but doubted that Arthur could see. Merlin heard the familiar strike of matchsticks on a matchbox, and the room was soon illuminated in a soft, yellow glow. 

Arthur, dressed in his usual tunic, handed Merlin a glass. Merlin took it with shaky hands and gulped it all down. 

“So, care to explain?” Arthur sat down on the chair next to his bed, crossing his arms. 

Merlin struggled to sit up, but eventually propped himself against the wall. “I was… drunk?” Merlin answered, feeling a bit guilty. Arthur only raised an eyebrow, his mouth set in a disapproving line. 

“Try again.”

“I was _really_ drunk. Probably spent my entire salary on drinks,” Merlin hated the tavern excuse. But Merlin’s pretty sure he looked rat arsed anyways. 

“They told me you looked _dead_ , not drunk,” Arthur said, his voice cracking on the ‘dead’. Merlin couldn’t bear looking at Arthur anymore, feeling like a rebellious child under a hurt parent’s gaze. “So,” Arthur said, “what were you doing,” he demanded, emphasizing every word. 

Merlin ran out of excuses. So he stayed silent. Arthur waited for a beat before sighing and leaning forward, his elbows now resting on his knees. “Is it so hard to tell me the truth?”

Yes. 

Merlin still didn’t dare to speak. 

Arthur finally gave up. He stood up, the sound of his chair scraping disrupting the heavy silence. “Stay here, don’t you dare move,” Arthur commanded in his ‘I’m-a-king-follow-my-orders’ voice. As if Merlin had the energy to do anything else. 

Arthur closed the door behind him, and Merlin was once again left alone. He should probably check how well his magic was doing, but it was hard to move his arms. He continued to stare in silence. 

Arthur came back, but with Darven at his heels. Fucking Darven. His magic despises him just as much as Merlin does. His mere presence gets on every one of his nerves.

“What is he doing here,” Merlin demanded, somehow finding the strength to sit up straight. 

“Relax, he’s here to look over you,” Arthur said, stepping aside to let Darven in. 

“Get Gaius, he’s better,” Merlin said. Darven only smirked. He had the audacity to smirk. Merlin was about to strangle him, his fatigue can be damned. 

“Think of it as a test, a Court Sorcerer needs to know a few healing spells,” Arthur replied, leaning against the door frame. “You’ll just have to be my guinea pig,” Arthur smirked, and Merlin knew he had more than enough strength to strangle both of them. 

“I’m not your guinea pig!” Merlin threw his hands up in outrage. “Ask your other guinea pigs! They’ll be lining up to impress you!”

“Ah you see, that’s why you’re my favorite guinea pig,” Arthur fucking _winked_ and left, closing the door behind him. Merlin glared at the door, albeit a bit glad that they were back to their easy banter. 

He directed the glare at Darven, making sure to look as intimidating as possible. “And you- get out, and stay away,” Merlin gritted out, pointing an accusing finger at Darven. Darven shrugged and looked amused, strutting forward, and seating himself on the bed. 

“Come on Merlin, don’t be like that,” Darven said. He reached out, but Merlin jerked away from him. 

“So tell me,” Darven said, his brown eyes turning hard. “Why do you hide?” 

“It doesn’t concern you,” Merlin gritted out, hating every second of this. Merlin knew that he could probably run if he absolutely had to, but it would hurt like hell. His legs and arms were sore from running, his head was still pounding, but he had enough strength to leave the room. Merlin hoped Arthur would be on the other side. 

“I’m pretty sure the well being of magical folk does concern me,” Darven said. “An outburst of that size was felt by almost every magical folk, don’t act innocent.” 

“I think you’ll see that I really don’t care,” Merlin said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d leave.”

“I’m sorry, _my lord_ ,” Darven said ‘my lord’ the same way Merlin would call Arthur ‘sire’ or ‘my liege’, but it lacked every ounce of warmth Merlin would put behind those words. “But I do care.”

Darven’s eyes flared gold, his mouth murmuring an unknown spell. Merlin felt himself being pinned down to the bed, the weight of the world crushing his arms and legs. Merlin’s eyes flared a brighter gold, flinging Darven off the bed. The weight on his limbs remained, somehow heavier. Darven got up and grabbed a pitcher nearby, which Merlin flung out of his arms. The weight got heavier. 

Merlin felt weaker by the second, his magic still hasn’t fully recovered. But he wasn’t going down without a fight. Merlin attempted to pin Darven on the wall with his magic, but only managed to knock him off his feet. Merlin cried out when he felt the weight get even heavier. 

“There’s no point. The pain only gets worse every time you use magic,” Darven explained, getting back on his feet. How was Arthur not hearing anything? 

Merlin couldn’t care less, his eyes flaring gold again. This time he aimed to choke Darven. Darven’s arms raised to his neck, gasping for breath. The spell on Merlin stuck again, this time he’s sure he heard his bones crack. Merlin released the hold on Darven, unable to bear the pain. He knew he was seconds away from losing hold of his magic and consciousness. Where is Arthur? 

“What have you done to Arthur?” Merlin asked with the last of his strength, his voice barely above a whisper. Darven coughed, taking deep, shallow breaths. Merlin could barely keep his eyes open, his limbs were still being crushed. Merlin felt his vision blur around his edges. He couldn’t hear Darven’s answer before passing out.  


* * *

  
Merlin woke up, detached. He couldn’t feel his arms and legs. His throat was sore and scratchy. His head was heavy, his eyes drooping down from the weight. Merlin succumbed to darkness once more.  


* * *

  
The next time he woke, it was to a sharp, prickling sting on his left cheek. It kept disappearing and appearing and was fairly annoying if you asked Merlin. 

“Wha-,” Merlin tried to speak, but all that came out was a groan. 

“Ah, you’re up Emrys! Welcome back!” said a suspiciously honeyed voice. Merlin, with great difficulty, peered his eyes open. He was once again in a dark room, the floor was cold and hard. He strained his eyes, trying to get a better look at the room. 

In the dark, he could make out a figure in front of him. Darven, again. Merlin felt sick at this point. No, like actually sick. He could feel the bile rise his throat, whether, for the pain or Darven, he did not know. He tramped it down, not really strong enough to puke. 

“I have to say, the legends were true,” Darven said from his crouched position. “You should probably be dead by now, but here we are.” 

“What do you want,” even speaking hurt. His throat felt like sand. 

“Not really a fan of chit-chat, but anyways, I’ll have to kill you,” Darven replied, getting up. Merlin could hear the faint murmur of a spell, and the candles around the room lit up. _Theatrics_ , Merlin wanted to roll his eyes. 

“Why?” Merlin asked, despite the soreness of his throat. He tried to relieve the pressure by magic and realized that something was wrong. He tried again, but there was nothing under his skin. He was stripped bare from inside-out, his magic locked away somewhere deeper. He couldn’t feel the small pricklings of magic. It was somewhere inside his core, dormant. 

He felt empty and cold. This probably hurt the most. 

Merlin looked down, finally noticing his cold writs. The numbness in his arms did a good job of ignoring it. Shackles. Cold iron shackles. Merlin felt a sense of dread settle low in his stomach. He was completely, utterly, defenseless. 

He did puke this time, angling his head away. It hurt to do it, his muscles aching from every heave and breath. 

“Emrys, you’re basically the ruler of the magical world,” Darven said, wincing at Merlin’s pain, but continuing. “No one likes a tyrant, but neither does one like a negligent King.”

Merlin could vaguely understand what he was saying. True, he’s never been very much attached to the magical world, too busy running after Arthur. But he hasn’t neglected it either. He loves it. He’ll save it. 

“Somehow you manage to be both. Taking from it and never giving back,” Merlin frowned, confused. “I’ll promise you, I can do better.”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. Power.

God, he wants Arthur to be here. He’s better at this anyway. 

“Well, the sad part is, a lot of magical creatures seem to favor you. For absolutely no reason.” Darven was now moving around, arranging things on his table. The candlelights made it easier to look. The table looked suspiciously like a sacrificial altar. It probably was. “The Druids would have my neck if I harm their precious little lord.”

Darven picked up something that looked sharp, probably a knife. On his other hand was a cloth, which he used to clean it. Darven muttered another spell, and the candles flickered for a second. No, that wasn’t what the spell was for. The knife glowed blue for a second, seeming brighter in the darkness. Once the glow subdued, the candles relit themselves. 

Merlin thought back on the fight in his chambers. Darven did not attempt to counteract his attacks with magic. Almost like…

Almost like he could hold only one spell at a time. 

The recent discovery would be very much useful, only if Merlin wasn’t bound in cold iron shackles. 

“Which is the exact purpose of this ritual!” Darven said, cheerfully. He once again extinguished all the candles, sending the room into pitch-black darkness. He then began lighting them manually. _He realized his mistake_ , Merlin thought gleefully. “I’ll just have to pluck out your heart and store your blood as proof that I’ve defeated you,” Darven explained once done. 

Alright, now escape plan. His body still hurt like hell, so running away wasn’t an option. His feet were left unbound, for some reason. Kicking was still an option, only if his bones weren’t too severely damaged. The one thing that bothered Merlin the most was that his magic was cut off. He was used to being magical. This was just wrong. 

“Water?” Merlin asked, his throat constricting painfully at the thought. Darven shrugged as if saying ‘you’re gonna die anyway, why not’ and poured him a glass, placing it in front of him. He resumed whatever he was doing. Merlin couldn’t see, he was turned away from Merlin. 

Much pain from protesting bones and muscles and a hundred positions later, Merlin was able to bring the cup to his lips without seriously damaging everything. His throat protested the sudden intake of fluids at first, the pain somehow doubling. But once that subsided, Merlin felt somewhat better. At least his throat was finally co-operating. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Merlin said, his voice still hoarse. “You want to kill me because you think you’d be a better King than me? And for that, you need my heart and blood?” 

“Yes.”

“Here buddy, you’re wrong. First off, I’m no King,” Merlin said, aiming to annoy him with his chatter. It always worked on Arthur. “Second, you wanna be King? Sure go ahead, don’t let me stop you.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” 

“Why? I don’t mind someone as self-centered as you being King,” Merlin’s chatter seemed to affect him a bit if the tensing of his shoulders was anything to go by. 

“Will you shut up? The creatures won’t accept me. They’ll need proof.”

“You don’t need proof, I’m giving it up to you.”

Darven turned back, startled. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

Uh, no. Merlin did not. “Yes, obviously.” His back hurt from lying on the hard ground for so long. Everything hurts. Shifting positions wasn’t an option, it’ll make the pain worse. 

Darven scoffed, turning away. “Yeah sure, you’ll totally give up your title without a fight.”

“Titles mean nothing to me. I’m sure you’ve seen me disrespecting Arthur countless times.”

Darven turned back once again, his gaze assessing. “You’re pathetic aren’t you? You really just don’t care.”

“Yes, pathetic, that’s me,” Merlin said, aiming for a cheeky grin, but it probably came across as a grimace. 

“I still want to kill you,” Darven said. “You’ll die anyway, we’ll just go with the ritual.” 

“But then you won’t have the satisfaction of calling me a coward.”

Darven was quiet for a second and then huffed out what seemed like a laugh. “You’re having me on, aren’t you? It won’t work on me, fool.” He went back to whatever he was doing. 

Merlin’s only plan backfired. Darven was smarter than he seemed. 

“Alright, what about Arthur?” Merlin continued talking, exploiting his only weapon.

“What about him?”

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. I really couldn’t care less about him,” Darven said, shrugging. “I just had to keep him out of the way. Nothing but a sleeping spell, I promise.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes on Darven’s back. He seriously underestimated Arthur’s abilities. Arthur would have regained consciousness by the time Darven used that spell on Merlin if his previous discovery was anything to go by. And then would be assessing the damage in Merlin’s room. He’d know something was wrong. Merlin just hoped that he knew where he was. 

Can Merlin still call the dragon? Was his Dragonlord heritage blocked out by the chains? Kilgharrah would be the last resort, Merlin decided. Just because magic was allowed doesn’t mean that people would accept the fact that a great gigantic lizard was flying around. Arthur and his Knights would just poke metal sticks at it in confusion, positive he’s already slain the dragon. Also, Merlin wasn’t sure how close he was to civilization. The people of Camelot wouldn’t survive another attack. 

Darven clapped his hands, pulling Merlin out of his thoughts. Darven got up, walking over to Merlin and crouching so that he was hovering over Merlin. “Ready?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, hauled Merlin to his feet. Merlin cried out louder than ever, his feet were severely damaged. Merlin must have passed out from the pain, because the next thing he knew, he was lying on the altar, facing up.

Darven was standing to his left, chanting something under his breath. Merlin suddenly felt something tingle at his core, a flicker of warmth. Merlin lost himself to the feeling, closing his eyes and basking in it for as long as it lasted. When he opened his eyes once more, Darven had his arms raised over his head, hands around the hilt of the knife. 

Merlin tried to shift from his position, before realizing that he was magically pinned down to the altar. 

“ ** _O drakon_** ,” Merlin began, disappointed that his voice wasn’t his usual deep undertone. “ ** _E male so ftengometta_** ,” Merlin continued chanting, but he knew it was fruitless. His Dragonlord powers were tied to his magic. 

Darven halted mid chant, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “ ** _... tesd'hup_** ' “ Merlin continued, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes swelling with tears. He couldn’t get out of this. He’d never see Arthur again, would never be able to tell Arthur the truth. 

“ **Anankes…** ” Merlin finished, rather pathetically. And like clockwork, the door to the room burst open, the clanking of armor reaching his ears before his eyes could comprehend the sight before him. 

“Merlin,” yelled out a slightly startled Arthur. His armor was disheveled as if he put it on by himself. His hair was disarray, his face constricted in horror. Despite this, he still looked like the regal King he was. His armor shined, adding a sense of glamour to him. His eyes were hard and horrified, which later dissolved into pure fury. 

Merlin must look like hell, he realized. But he smiled anyway, this time a genuine one because Arthur was somehow _here_. 

Arthur moved his gaze from Merlin to Darven, noticing the knife perched high above. The growl he let out was purely feral and charged forward. Darven side-stepped Arthur’s sword, finally recovering from the shock. The room was small, and Arthur, in no time, had Darven against a wall. 

Darven, finally muttered another spell, sending Arthur flying to the opposite wall. Merlin cried out in outrage, craning his head to check on Arthur, ignoring his protesting muscles. He was fine, struggling against the invisible restraints. 

But Merlin was finally free. The shackles were still there, but he could move. Darven, after catching his breath, moved forward, crouching down to pick up Arthur’s sword. 

“Look, Arthur, I really have nothing against you,” Darven said, testing the weight of the sword. He’s clearly never held one before, awkwardly trying to find the best grip. He even tried to hold it like a dagger, accidentally pointing the sword towards him rather than Arthur. Merlin had to hold back his snort. 

Arthur, on the other hand, did not. He was still struggling against his magic, but his mouth betrayed a snort of amusement. Darven glared at Arthur, who sobered up quickly. 

The Knights should be here soon, and things would be fine. But something about Arthur’s expression said otherwise. To anyone else, he looked angry and furious. But Merlin could make out the lines of worry that faintly graced his features. 

“You cabbage head!” Merlin yelled in outrage, attracting the attention of the other two. Arthur must have realized that Merlin knew he came alone if the grimace was anything to go by. “You utter, idiotic, _moron!_ ” 

“Sorry,” Arthur murmured, ducking his head down. Merlin didn’t know where he got his energy from, but he suddenly sat up, nearly crying from the pain. His breaths were deep and shallow, his legs yelling at him to give them a break. “Merlin stop! You’re hurting-”

“No, you stop being so stupid!” Merlin kept yelling. Darven was looking at him like he'd lost his mind, but Merlin didn’t care. Merlin stopped trying to move, knowing that any more pain and he’d pass out. His eyes were already growing heavy from exhaustion and his throat was once again drying up. Dammit. He needed his magic. 

Darven stopped looking confused, his features turning amused instead. Merlin could feel tears pricking his eyes, threatening to fall over. The situation was so hopeless. There was nothing he could do with Arthur pinned against the wall and his limbs immobile. 

“Stop, Darven. Just. Stop,” Merlin said. “I’ll go willingly. Leave him.”

“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur yelled, struggling once again against the restraints. Darven raised an eyebrow at him, contemplating. Something in Merlin’s expression must have screamed his desperation because Darven changed courses and stood in front of him.

“How do I know he won’t kill me after I kill you?” 

Merlin was whacking his brain for some sort of witty answer but came up with none. Merlin felt his throat dry up once again, this time, the pain worsened. 

“Exactly,” Darven said and went back to Arthur. The grip on the sword was still awkward, but it was enough to seriously harm. Merlin could feel his eyes burning, this time with angry tears, along with his magic. It was muted, still struggling against its cage. His skin felt hot, his palms even more so. 

Arthur was staring straight at Merlin, his expression full of regret. Perhaps for having to end things this way. Merlin was now crying freely, his tears burning against his already hot cheeks. His hands were burning up, impossibly so. 

Merlin shifted his gaze to Darven, who was slowly angling Arthur’s sword backward. Merlin was sure he was shouting profanities, his throat hurt like hell. There was an annoying buzz in his ears, leaving him detached from the outside world. He was almost positive his hands were on fire. 

None of it mattered. Time slowed down, but Merlin had nothing to do with it. Merlin cursed his legs for being injured. Merlin cursed the shackles for restraining his magic. Merlin cursed himself for being so weak. Merlin cursed destiny for making him watch. Watch as Darven slowly brought the sword close to Arthur. Watch as Arthur only had eyes for him. 

The flesh on his wrists was prickling like they were being pierced from a thousand pins and needles. The pain was too much. Merlin felt his eyes swell up again, his head pounding. He was forced to break eye contact with Arthur. 

The iron was glowing. It was red-hot. The burn intensified when Merlin looked at it, the heat seeping from his clothes to his legs and probably scarring the skin there. Merlin didn’t mind, as long as he could break the chains. His wrists would probably suffer life-long damages, but he’ll deal with it later. 

Merlin didn’t really know that he was screaming until the buzzing in his ears faded away. The chains around his wrist practically exploded, and Merlin could feel his magic again. The relief was short-lived, as he realized that he was overflowing with excess restrained magic. 

One look at the other two tipped the balance over. 

The sword had already pierced the first layers of chainmail. Everything was still slowed down, but it wasn’t because of Merlin. He could think about it later.

His magic was already working on healing his limbs, and it was too soon to move. He did it anyway. Merlin was on his feet, eyes glowing gold, his hands burning with real fire. He directed the excess magic into his hands, turning them into flames. It built up into a raging fireball, and Merlin sent it flying towards Darven. 

Draven, in the meantime, had released Arthur and built up a weak shield around himself. The fireball reacted with the shield, shattering it but exhausting the fireball. Merlin turned to look at Arthur, who was propped against the wall, looking at Merlin. Merlin forgot that Arthur didn’t know. 

In a moment of clarity, Merlin realized he was fucked anyway. Merlin used the few extra seconds to build a shield around Arthur, who was still staring at Merlin with an unreadable expression. Never, in the five years Merlin’s been with Arthur, had he ever seen _that_ one.

Merlin tore his gaze away, unable to look any longer. His legs had gained minimum function, enough for him to stand without getting distracted. Darven also utilized the time to build a shield around himself, looking terrified. _Good. He should be_. 

Merlin knew the best way to ensure his death was to let his magic take over. 

The fire in his hands turned into a dragon this time, a parody of Darven’s first magical show. It tested and attacked the boundaries of the shield, which was very strong. The thing about using only one spell at a time meant that the spell you used was the strongest ever. 

It didn’t matter. He’d break down the shield. He had too much magic, better put it to good use.

The dragon attacked the shield, dispersing into a million sparks once it came in contact. Darven smirked, looking satisfied. 

Merlin summoned two others, sending them flying over. The two disappeared into sparks. 

“Sorry Emrys looks like it isn’t working,” Darven taunted from behind his shield. Merlin hardly cared. 

“ ** _Ic þe bebiede þæt þu abifest nu_** ,” Merlin chanted and slammed his fist to the ground, sending the earth surrounding him into a violent shake. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't small. The roof of the hut broke into chunks, falling and littering the ground in debris. Merlin spared a glance at Arthur, who was still alive, the debris falling around the shield. 

The ground beneath Darven wasn’t protected by his shield, sending Darven into a violent shake, his shield flattering a bit. Merlin used the opportunity to weave a couple of fireballs, making them rain upon his shield, shattering it like glass. 

Merlin summoned another batch of flames but paused. 

If Arthur saw him killing first hand, would he ever look at Merlin the same way? Would Arthur fear him, if he killed Darven in cold blood? Would things ever be the same? He couldn’t do this in front of Arthur. He’d realize how much of a monster he was. Darven lay on the ground, defeated. His shield shattered, he was only just another sorcerer. 

Merlin fell to his knees, exhausted. He’d done it, Arthur probably hated him by now. Merlin only hoped that he didn’t fear him. 

Merlin kept his eyes on the rise and fall of Darven’s chest. He couldn’t bear to look at Arthur. Something was draining all his energy away. He felt weak and vulnerable. 

Merlin finally got down from his high. The exhaustion returned tenfold. Merlin vaguely heard a voice calling for him before embracing the darkness.  


* * *

  
_I should probably stop passing out so much, I might turn into Arthur._

Someone to Merlin’s left dissolved into a fit of giggles. Merlin’s pretty sure he didn’t speak out loud. Merlin slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurred from exhaustion. Merlin could make out a blob of red hair to his left and relaxed. It was only Affodill.

  


Merlin woke up a second time, alone. Deciding that he had no reason to be awake, he let his body relax once more.

  


The third time, he didn’t wake up on his own. It was to something watery forcing its way down his throat. Merlin choked and coughed, finally opening his eyes. It was only Gaius. Merlin welcomed the flow of water into his parched throat, falling asleep soon after, ignoring Gaius.

  


The fourth time, Merlin swore it would be the last one. Merlin forced himself to sit up, stretching his sleep sore muscles. No bones were cracked. Merlin was alone again this time. There was a jar of water next to his bed, and Merlin chugged it down shamelessly. 

Merlin sat on his bed, unsure of what to do next. He’s had plenty of sleep, of that he’s sure. Anymore he’d probably be forcing his way into a coma. 

Merlin settled on gently massaging his painfully sore legs. He’s been sore for so long that he’s forgotten what it feels to be normal. His fingers were sore too, which made it harder. Merlin gave up after a few seconds. 

Bored, he tested out his magic by summoning a flower. Turns out that he summoned a rose, and smiled at the bittersweet memory of Freya. He placed it on the table next to his bed. 

His stomach growled next. Merlin somehow managed to get on his feet, though every step ached. He made it to the door and pushed it open, startling a poor Gaius to drop his vial. Merlin tried to stop it mid-air but failed. His reflexes needed to be sharpened, dammit. 

“Merlin,” Gaius exclaimed, giving him one of his rare genuine smiles. He dropped it a second later, his face hardening. “What are you doing out of bed? Go back.”

Merlin scratched the back of his head, feeling wrong-footed. Why was he still alive again? Wasn’t he supposed to be executed or exiled or something? “I’m hungry?”

Gaius told him to head back to bed, only then he’d get his food. Merlin compiled. 

Gaius brought him a bowl full of his favorite soup, for which Merlin was glad. He practically inhaled it down, much to Gaius’s dismay.

“So, how long was I out?” Merlin asked, setting aside his bowl of soup. 

“A week, more or less,” Gaius replied. 

Merlin spluttered. A week? 

“Now, calm down. How do you feel?” Gaius asked.

“Fine, very sore though.”

“Merlin,” Gaius started, looking unsure. Ah. So he was going to be executed. “How much do you remember?” Not yet then. 

“All of it,” Merlin replied, glancing down at his wrist. The skin was charred, the layer of red standing stark against his pale skin. “At least until I passed out.”

Gaius nodded. “That’ll probably scar for life, I’m afraid. I would ask you how you burnt cold iron without magic, but knowing you, you probably don’t know,” Gaius sighed, shaking his head. Merlin gave him his best apologetic smile, scratching the back of his head.

“How’s your magic?” Gaius asked.

“Fine. I could summon that flower,” Merlin said, pointing at the rose on his bedside table. Gaius looked satisfied with that answer.

“If you’re worried, Arthur will be here soon,” Gaius said, and Merlin tensed up at those words. “And no, he’s not going to execute you.”

“Banishment, then?” Merlin asked, uncertain. 

“I hardly doubt he’d be fussing over you so much if he was about to exile you,” Gaius said, rolling his eyes. Merlin looked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“You’ll see,” Gaius said, looking at him weirdly. 

Once again, like clockwork, there was a loud noise outside of his chambers, sounding like a door banging against the wall. “Merlin!” a voice said, yelling through the wood. Merlin flinched, feeling confused. 

The door to his chambers was yanked open, and Gaius evacuated his spot from the chair in a hurry. Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s, who wore his armor and looked like he was training just moments before. 

Arthur rushed forward, plopping himself on Gaius’s former chair. His eyes were assessing Merlin, lingering on his wrist. Merlin heard the door to his chambers close, leaving Merlin alone with Arthur. He wasn’t exactly sure if that was a good thing. 

Merlin didn’t know what to say, and by the looks of it, so did Arthur. 

“Your armor’s crooked,” Merlin blurted out for no reason, clamping his mouth shut. Arthur huffed out something close to a laugh, and Merlin relaxed.

And then Mr. ‘I’m-so-manly-I-do-not-do-affections’ yanked Merlin into possibly the worst hug Merlin’s ever had to experience. The breastplate clacked painfully against his chin, Arthur smelled like his after training glory, and Merlin probably smelled worse. But that didn’t matter, because Arthur was hugging him with strong, sure arms. It wasn’t just a little arm around his shoulder or a pat on his back, it was a full hug. 

And Merlin would enjoy every second of it. 

Merlin snaked his arms around Arthur, holding him just as close. He’s never felt anything better than this. Scratch that, this was the best hug Merlin’s ever got in his life. 

They stayed like that for a few seconds, before slowly pulling away. And now it was awkward. 

Arthur cleared his throat and looked away, Merlin doing the same. Merlin was too busy checking out his nails to notice that Arthur was full-on glaring at the rose at Merlin’s table. 

“So,” Arthur said, his voice dangerously sharp. Merlin looked up to see that Arthur was wearing a close off expression, but couldn’t fathom why. “Someone’s got you flowers.”

“There’s only one flower,” Merlin deadpanned. Arthur’s expression hardened further. Wrong thing to say.

“Let me guess, Gwaine? Affodill?”

“What, no-”

“Lancelot, wasn’t it? No, he’s in love with Gwen,” Arthur went on. 

“Wait, you know?” Merlin asked.

“What? Of course, I do,” Arthur said, giving Merlin his signature ‘you’re an idiot’ look. How was Merlin supposed to know that Arthur knew, that Merlin knew, that Lancelot loved Gwen? Why isn’t he angry? “It has to be Gwaine or Affodill.”

“What-” Merlin was missing something here. Something he should know, but doesn’t. “What are we doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out who you’re in love with. Try to keep up, Merlin. Is it Affodill or Gwaine?” Arthur said, narrowing his eyes into a glare. “Don’t tell me it’s both.” 

“What no,” Merlin yelled in outrage. He had to keep his mouth shut from blurting out _‘it’s you! it’s you!'_ but could barely understand why they were having this conversation. 

“Why are we doing this? Aren’t you supposed to be banishing me or something by now?” Merlin asked, letting his hands cradle his head. He didn’t want to look at Arthur while having this conversation. 

“Merlin, you. are. an. idiot.” Arthur said, emphasizing every word with a poke to his head. When Merlin finally looked up, it was to Arthur once again giving Merlin his signature ‘you-are-an-idiot’ look. But Merlin could see the hurt in his eyes, making Merlin feel guilty. “Oh yes, I’ll just abandon training and hug the person I’m about to banish,” Arthur continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

And for the first time, Merlin really did feel like an idiot. Merlin could feel a stupid little grin forming around the corners of his mouth, and no force on Earth could stop it. 

“Oh,” was all Merlin could say, still grinning like an idiot. 

“Yes, oh,” Arthur mocked, but he too was smiling like an idiot. Well, that’s because they were both idiots. 

Merlin didn’t think, just pulled Arthur into another hug. It was even better than the last one. 

“You’re going to be insufferable about the hugging thing, aren’t you?” Arthur asked, but returned the hug anyway. Merlin could practically hear the eye roll. 

“Yes,” Merlin answered, still grinning like an idiot. 

They stayed like that for another minute, basking in the warmth of the other. Arthur’s hand was playing with Merlin’s hair, and Merlin loved it. Eventually, the angle got awkward, with Merlin on the bed and Arthur on the chair, and so they pulled away. 

Arthur opened his mouth but closed it as his eyes caught the rose. “Oh, sod it,” Arthur muttered, before yanking Merlin forward, again, but this time for a kiss. 

It took a few seconds for Merlin to catch up. Arthur’s lips were on his, soft and chapped. Arthur’s lips were on his. Arthur was kissing Merlin. 

Merlin gasped, things finally starting to make sense. He then remembered that he was supposed to be kissing back. And so Merlin closed his eyes, tilting his head to get a better angle, and kissed back. 

If Merlin thought that hugging Arthur was the best feeling in the world, he was wrong. _This_ was the best feeling in the world. 

Eventually, Arthur pulled away, and Merlin tried to follow his lips to get them back on his, _now_. Arthur chuckled, peppered two or three kisses, and pulled away again. Merlin was well aware that he was probably smiling like an idiot, but Arthur was too, so it was okay. 

“Alright, now get some rest,” Arthur said but making no move to move. “I’ll visit again in the evening.”

“Fine.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, one hand still playing with Merlin’s hair. Merlin leaned into the touch, enjoying the feeling of Arthur’s sword-calloused hands massaging his scalp. “Don’t look at me like that,” Arthur complained.

“Like what?” Merlin asked.

“Like a kicked puppy.”

“Then don’t leave,” Merlin grumbled.

Arthur chuckled, his hands stroking Merlin’s hair one last time. “Don’t want to. But you still need rest, and that’s an order. We’ll talk later.”

Arthur stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. He placed a small kiss on Merlin’s forehead before leaving.  


* * *

  
Merlin fell back against the bed, feeling giddy. Under his skin, he could feel his magic respond with equal satisfaction. Oh. They still needed to talk about that. Arthur didn’t seem too mad, and Merlin’s grateful for that. 

Merlin couldn’t wait to show Arthur his magic. Maybe they could go on little picnics where Merlin-

Wait. Oh.

Going on picnics would mean that they would be courting. Kissing meant they were courting. But Arthur was already courting Gwen.

It felt like a million coal bricks were pressing against Merlin’s skin. His chest felt heavy. Merlin groaned and pulled the covers over his head, the sense of guilt growing with every second. He couldn’t do this. Not to Gwen. 

Things quickly went south after that. Merlin felt awful. He couldn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, he didn’t drink. He barely even wanted to continue breathing. 

Merlin doesn’t know if he could give up Arthur now, after sharing wonderful kisses and hugs. He couldn’t hurt his best friend either. He fucking kissed his best friend’s partner. He _fell in love with him_. 

Gwen was going to be Queen for mercy’s sake. _She_ was Arthur’s true love’s kiss. _She_ was the Once and Future Queen. _She_ was the one supposed to be on Arthur’s side. 

Merlin was only supposed to be Arthur’s protector. Not his lover. He couldn’t be. He was supposed to be there, in the shadows, being his guardian. He didn’t mind doing that. 

Hot tears pricked his eyes, but he wasn’t going to cry. Merlin and Arthur shared a destiny, a complicated, hard, cruel destiny, but they weren’t supposed to be. Merlin absolutely knew that he was setting himself up for heartbreak when he fell in love. This was worse. He got a taste of the future that could never be. Now he had to let go. 

Merlin couldn’t bring himself to talk to anyone for the rest of the day. He feigned sleep whenever he heard someone at the door. He wouldn’t stir when Gaius came into the room to feed him. He just lay there, trying to be perfectly still. 

And then finally, Arthur entered. Merlin didn’t stir. He heard something fizz behind him but ignored it. Merlin’s back was to Arthur, but he could hear the scrape of a chair and the loud sigh Arthur gave out. 

“Wake up clotpole, we need to talk,” Arthur said, lightly tapping Merlin’s shoulder. 

“That’s my word,” Merlin couldn’t help but fall back into old habits. Their banter was the only thing he could rely on for lightning his mood. 

Arthur laughed, pulling on Merlin’s shoulder until Merlin was laying on his back. “And it suits you perfectly,” Arthur smiled, looking terribly fond. 

“Arthur,” Merlin began, unsure of how to say it. 

“We’ll start with the magic,” Arthur prompted, and Merlin was glad. Magic was something he could talk about without crying. He’ll just leave out all the bad things, for now. He’ll confess everything, but just not now. 

“I’ve had it ever since I was a child,” Merlin explained. 

“Wow,” Arthur said in disbelief. “I knew you had magic, just not since birth.”

“ _You what-_ ”

“Come on _Mer_ lin, you aren’t just as stealthy as you think,” said Arthur, giving Merlin one of his teasing smiles. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Merlin realized he was still laying on the bed, and got up, facing Arthur. That’s when he noticed a bunch of yellow weeds on his desk. _Daisies_ his mind supplied, the voice sounding suspiciously like Gaius. 

Arthur caught Merlin looking at the daisies, and looked away. “I picked them, like you know, a ‘get better soon’ gift,” Arthur explained. Merlin couldn’t help smile a little at that. 

“I didn’t tell you because at first, I caught you while you were doing chores,” Dammit. Merlin could _feel_ Gaius’s eyebrow-of-doom. “It was shocking, to say the least.”

“You give me too many chores,” Merlin mumbled, the tips of his ears heating up.

“And then I eventually came around. I told myself I’d wait until you tell me,” Arthur continued. “But then with Darven… It was… I didn’t know you had that much magic.” His tone was a bit unsure, Merlin didn’t like it one bit. 

Merlin snapped his head up. “Arthur I’d never hurt you, my magic is for you, to _protect_ you,” Merlin justified, eyes wide. How could Arthur ever think that Merlin would intentionally hurt him? 

“I figured, with the shield and all,” Arthur said. “One of these days you’re going to tell me everything you did,” he said, his voice firm. Merlin nodded. 

“I will,” he promised. 

“I also need you to promise you’ll never again try to do everything by yourself. Let me help,” Arthur said, and Merlin could hear the underlying desperation. 

Merlin hesitated for a second. Doing things alone meant that no one else would get hurt. If Arthur were to enlist his help, there’s a high chance of him getting hurt. 

“Merlin, promise me.”

“Alright, I’ll try,” Merlin replied at last. “But if I feel like you’d be in danger I won’t,” Merlin could tell that it wasn’t the answer Arthur was expecting, his expression inching towards annoyingness. 

“I can take care of myself,” Arthur defended.

“I know. But there are things that you can’t defend yourself against,” there wasn’t anyone other than Merlin who knew exactly how many times Arthur’s life was actually in danger. “That’s where I come in, to protect you.”

They fell into an uneasy silence after that. Merlin wanted to tell Arthur everything, starting from their shared destiny to his undying love for him. He also wanted to explain how it was for the best if they remained friends, Merlin in Arthur’s shadow, protecting him, always. 

Arthur was slightly frowning, his teeth worrying his lips. He looked like he wanted to ask a lot of questions, but didn’t know how to. Merlin tried his hardest not to look at Arthur’s lips. “What is it?” Merlin asked finally.

“Nothing, it’s just… you didn’t like Darven from the start,” Arthur was looking at Merlin as if searching for negative reactions to that name. He wouldn’t find any. “How did you know?”

“Well I guess the fact that he tried to kill you during the tournaments was an obvious teller,” Merlin started. “But my, you know,” Merlin waved his hand around, indicating magic, “always reacted badly whenever he was around.” 

“When did he try to kill me?” Arthur asked confusion written clear in his face. Merlin could feel Arthur review the day of the tournament, going over Darven’s performance. 

“The lion didn’t disperse by itself,” Merlin prompted. 

Arthur was still staring at Merlin with pinched eyebrows and pouty lips, looking terribly cute. _‘Stop thinking’_ Merlin reminded himself. “Even if it was meant to kill, it wasn’t aimed at me. It was off-centered,” Arthur said, leaning back. His eyes were wide, his eyebrows still furrowed. And then suddenly, “You idiot, it was aimed at you.” 

Merlin ran through the memory again, but he was sure that the lion was headed towards Arthur. “No, I’m sure it was aimed at you.”

“It was after you. Darven was at you from the start. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” Arthur glared at Merlin, but there wasn’t any heat to it. 

“That doesn’t make sense. My magic kept telling me to go to you,” Merlin replied. He was sure that Darven had ill intentions towards Arthur. “What happened to him anyway?”

“I might have killed him,” Arthur replied. Merlin searched for any signs of regret but didn’t find any. “And your magic tells you things?” Arthur asked, lips twitching.

“No, I mean, I get a weird feeling,” Merlin replied.

“Oh, so that’s where you ‘weird feelings’ come from.” Merlin nodded dumbly. 

They were silent for a few seconds. Arthur soon relaxed, only to start fidgeting. His fingers were digging into his palms and picking under his nails.

“Arthur?” 

Arthur didn’t look up right away. When he did, his gaze wasn’t on Merlin’s eyes, but lower. Merlin didn’t speak or move. Arthur’s gaze flickered to his eyes, staring with intent this time. 

“ _Merlin_.” Merlin hated (loved) the way he said his name. His voice was low and husky, and it did things to Merlin. Things he was desperately trying to avoid. 

Arthur leaned forward, hands reaching out to Merlin. Merlin almost, _almost_ surged forward. Arthur reached out to Merlin’s face, his hand resting on his jaw. Merlin carefully grabbed his wrist, lowering it down. Merlin looked down at his hand, which was encircling Arthur’s wrist. 

“A-Arthur,” Merlin hated the way his voice cracked. He didn’t want to appear uncertain. He was sure this was for the best. “We can’t,” Merlin felt his chest constrict at that, trying to stop his eyes from watering. 

“What?” Arthur’s voice was pitched high, his tone outraged. Merlin let go of Arthur’s wrist, turning Arthur’s palm up. He traced the lines of Arthur’s palm, desperately trying to not look at Arthur. “Merlin, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we can’t do this,” If Merlin had to choose between living through a serket sting and this conversation, he’d still pick having this conversation because a sting of a serket hurt like hell. But it was a close one. Very close. Having this particular conversation made it hard to breathe and made his heartache very much. 

“Why? We were fine this afternoon, right? Did someone say anything? Or did I do something wrong” Arthur turned his hand over, grasping Merlin’s in an almost painful grip. Merlin hated how Arthur sounded. He still couldn’t bring himself to look up. 

“No, it’s none of that,” God, Merlin couldn’t do this. 

“Then what?”

_Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry_.

“Destiny,” Shit, Merlin was about to cry. “You’re the King,” Merlin didn’t want to keep talking. “G-Gwen,” he choked out. “Would you like me to keep going?”

“What destiny? And Gwen, I’ll talk to her. We haven’t been the same for a long time,” Lies. Merlin knew they were lies. 

“We share a destiny. You’re meant to be the greatest King of Albion, The Once and Future King, the one who unites everyone and leads us into a Golden Age of peace and prosperity,” despite the situation, Merlin couldn’t help but sound star-struck. 

“I’m meant to be protecting you, making sure that you’re kept alive to achieve that,” normally, Merlin would have spoken these words with pride, but couldn’t help but feel like it was a curse. 

“Doesn’t mean that we can’t fall in love,” Arthur whispered, and Merlin had to look up. He didn’t like what he found. He’s rarely seen Arthur cry, once when Uther died and when Morgana betrayed them. It’s funny to think that Merlin was the cause of them both. 

He wasn’t ugly crying. He wasn’t technically crying. But there were tears in his eyes, and Merlin could tell that he was also trying hard not to cry. And that made Merlin cry. 

“You don’t get it,” Merlin sniffed. “It doesn’t just end there. You’ll need an heir too. And Gwen is supposed to be your Queen.”

“It doesn’t matter. Why should we let it matter?”

“You can’t change what’s set, Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice bitter. “There was this time I wished to leave,” Merlin didn’t want to tell Arthur all of this. Arthur looked shocked, and Merlin hated that. “With a girl who I loved. We didn’t make it out of Camelot before she was killed.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t leave you, ever,” Merlin said. “I won’t leave you anyways, not now. That was a long time ago when I didn’t know that I-”

“Didn’t know that you what, Merlin?” Arthur stared at Merlin, and Merlin tried hard not to squirm under it. 

“Didn’t know that I love you,” Merlin whispered.

“See? We can make it work!” Arthur was determined now, and Merlin wanted to slap some sense into him. 

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make!” Merlin nearly yelled. “I’m trying to tell you that you can’t escape destiny. Some things just aren’t meant to be!”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just accept it and move on like it never happened?” Arthur too was yelling now. 

“Yes!” Merlin loses his grip on Arthur’s hand, but Arthur wouldn’t let go. 

“I can’t! I bloody well love-”

“Don’t.” Merlin cut in. He wouldn’t hear it. “Don’t,” he repeated, softer this time. 

“Why not? Why won’t you let me say it?” This felt familiar. 

“Because it’s all talk. And that’s all it can ever be. And this time, it’s for certain,” Merlin repeated. Ah, that’s where. All of this awfully felt like the time Merlin heard Arthur confess his love for Gwen. 

Arthur didn’t seem to recognize any of it. But Merlin remembered because it hurt to listen. Listen and encourage Arthur to go after her, his love. But he’s never shown it. 

“You,” Arthur gritted out. “Don’t know anything. How much it hurt to see you on that table, or, or when you collapsed. Or when I couldn’t find a heartbeat.” 

“You think I don’t know what it feels like? When you’d charge without thinking and injure yourself? Or when you're practically dead after all those assassination attempts?” Merlin wanted to yell some more, but he didn’t want to relive those things either. He wanted so badly to curl up in Arthur’s arms and maybe fall asleep and forget everything that holds them back. 

“It isn’t only that! You act like everything’s fine after being abducted, attacked, almost sacrificed, and dying and act like it was nothing!” Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s hand was almost painful now, but Merlin won’t pull away. It was better than holding nothing. “It makes me worry how many times you’ve been through all this, how many times you’ve almost died, and I did nothing.” Arthur was crying now, and Merlin’s heart clenched at the sight. 

It was probably against Merlin’s better judgment when he did this, but he couldn’t keep looking at Arthur anymore. And so he once again pulled him into a hug, holding on tight. Merlin couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears that slipped on Arthur’s shoulders and judging by the tight grip and the wetness on his shoulder, Arthur couldn’t either. 

For a long time, all that filled the room were the sounds of their sobs. Merlin loosened his grip on Arthur’s shoulders, pulling away. But Arthur didn’t let go. 

“We’ll figure it out Merlin, we’ll figure it out,” Arthur whispered against his shoulder. “You’re too precious to let go.”

Merlin didn’t answer, only let himself relax slightly in Arthur’s arms. 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion from all that yelling and crying, or it was the feeling of safety Arthur’s arms provided, but Merlin allowed himself to shift their bodies into the narrow bed. As he lay cuddled up against Arthur, feeling safer than ever, he knew things were far from alright. He knew they had to face the Kingdom, their friends, the Knights, and Gwen the next day. He knew things might never work out. 

Destiny was a stubborn thing, but he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity. 

So for now, as he felt Arthur’s heartbeat slow down under his hand, he told himself that he was willing to make the effort.


End file.
